


Tumblr Drabbles

by thebakerstboyskeeper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, See Chapters for Specific Warnings, Sidni is a butthead, Smut, Some Will Be Short, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebakerstboyskeeper/pseuds/thebakerstboyskeeper
Summary: Just drabbles about my Inquisitors that I'm saving here since who knows what Tumblr is doing.





	1. Mea Culpa - Sidni

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a follow-up to Chapter 7 in the March Writing Challenge. You don't need to read it, but you can.
> 
> Warnings: Descriptions of violence and abuse. They don’t actually happen, but just be aware.

It seems she isn’t expecting him. She stands with her back to him, clad only in her breeches, hair slightly damp, her tunic grasped in a fist.

Cullen’s sharp inhale shatters the calm. His eyes are fixed on the scars across the expanse of her torso. He watches every facet of her body harden, the walls going up, her eyes closing, that mark on her hand sparking slightly. The garment falls to the floor.

Her voice is choked as she says his name.

Gaze locked to her back, he steps closer. He’s transfixed. Most of the marks there are faded, pearly with proper healing. Some are shallow like stripes from a whip, curling over shoulders and toward her collarbone. Others are wider, sunken, skin flayed open under a knife. But there are still patches of unmarred skin between them, until he reaches her shoulder blades. Six angry slashes, deep pink, signs of healed infection along their puckered edges, are stark against her skin like tally marks. He brushes a finger against the largest bisecting her spine.

Her body jerks. He pulls his hands away immediately. She gasps raggedly, her shoulders curling inward. It belatedly occurs to him that his gloves are still on and he discards them quickly. Pressing his bare fingers to her skin calms her breathing somewhat. He waits, unmoving, until she looks over her shoulder. Their eyes meet.

She nods.

He follows the marks, eager to commit them to memory. She doesn’t react when the roughness of his hands skips against an uneven patch, but he kisses an apology into each one. He suspected this in the beginning, but to have it confirmed this way turns his blood cold.

Eventually, her tense stance relaxes, her head falling forward. With a deep breath, she steps away and pulls on her binding before turning to him. Her face is blank, eyes shifting away from him. It allows him to see the darkest mark on her torso, oddly shaped as it is. It starts just above her belly button and goes straight up toward her chest before abruptly veering toward her right side, across her ribs and below the breast band, then resuming its upward path on her side. The end of it pokes just above the cloth of her binding. The skin is raised, rippling, poorly healed. The pink color tells him everything he needs to know: it ripped her open with force.

Cullen reaches for her, pausing only when the muscles of her stomach contract like she wants to pull away. When she makes no further move, he touches his fingertips to it, tracing its path.

“He stabbed. I couldn’t pull away because one of the mages was shocking me. All I could do was turn. Try to protect the important bits.”

“Who?”

“Roggar.”

“Is that … your father?” Cullen asks.

Her face darkens. “No. Some distant cousin. Hated that I could lay him out on his ass every time. Hated that I was good at what I did. And younger. Wanted my place. When undermining me didn’t work …”

She takes a breath and brings her gaze back to him. Her eyes are raw and hazy. For the first time he can recall, she looks fragile. He briefly wonders how young she was when this happened. Perhaps it was the first time she faced the possibility of dying. And at the hands of a family member. As quickly as the vulnerability appeared, it’s gone. Not even the Inquisitor stands before him. This creature is Carta royalty, straight backed and detached, giving a report.

“He believed I had stolen his rightful place. That I hadn’t earned it. And I no longer believed he was trustworthy. Despite several years of bringing the evidence to my father, he ignored it. My first solo lyrium run to Orlais, my path was shared with him. He was waiting. With two dwarves from another clan and three apostates. I took out the other dwarves and one mage before I was overwhelmed. One mage shocked me, one nearly took my eye, and Roggar stabbed me. They took the lyrium and left me for dead.”

He wants to shake her free. It’s unnerving to see her like this, but he lets her continue. He wants to know.

“I made my way home. Reported to my father. I was punished. Then sent to find them. Recover the lyrium and kill them or–”

“Maker’s breath. Were you still injured?”

Her eyes focus on Cullen. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Just barely sixteen.”

The air stills around them.  _Sixteen_.

“I found them. And I killed them. I never left an assignment uncompleted again.”

He catches her chin in his grasp, tilting her face into the light. Slowly, so slowly, he presses his lips to the scar on her cheek. He lingers, breath caressing her skin before moving to repeat the motion for the scar on her brow.

The attention is making her tremble. She’s tensed, ready to flee or retreat and brush it away as insignificant. Cullen shifts, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed. As he sits, she clings to him, her face buried in his neck. He presses a hand between her shoulders, feeling those six marks.

The punishment she spoke of. One for each of her attackers.

Cradled in his arms, she feels like the child she was when this horror happened to her. He mouths promises of safety, of love, into the marks curling over the shoulder he can reach

He squeezes her before laying her on her back. His fingers make quick work of his armor and boots, setting the metal gently on the floor. Her eyes don’t leave him, even as he climbs over her and lowers his lips to her stomach. He presses his lips against the scar.

She sucks in a breath.

“You survived. Against all odds. These scars are proof of your strength, not weakness. No matter what else you were made to believe.”

When she turns to her side and curls her knees into herself, Cullen can recognize he’s pushed enough for the night. She won’t believe his words. Not yet at least. He settles in behind her and learns the landscape of her back. For each imperfection he traces, a whispered story unfurls in the quiet between them. Harmful lessons learned and controlling bonds tightened. Any act of rebellion against the role she was molded for has left a reminder.

“Are there others?” he asks.

“No. Children are precious to dwarves. Someone would have stepped in if they suspected … well, any of what he was doing.”

“These had to stay hidden.”

“Of course. I learned quickly. I think the last one was when I was nineteen. I never needed one after that.”

 _Because he had his perfectly trained minion._  Cullen’s glad she’s not looking at him, sure his face is filled with disgust. Perhaps the dwarves had no way to actually perform spells, but this … this was a kind of blood magic all its own.

She takes a deep breath, shifting so that she lays on her back. Her hand trembles as it reaches, but he accepts her silent request, fingers weaving together. Their legs tangle as she slowly, haltingly, brings their joined hands to rest on the bare skin of her stomach. Her grip tightens, but she doesn’t pull away.

“It wasn’t bad,” she breathes. “I got to see Thedas. Meet strange people.”

“How many of those people wanted to kill you?”

“Maybe half.”

“That is not comforting,” Cullen grumbles.

He feels her chuckle under their hands.

“It feels like a lifetime ago. It just … is. I can’t change it. But … I can try to be better than he made me.”

Cullen shudders and presses a kiss to her bare shoulder.

“Don’t you dare start pitying me,” she grits out past a clenched jaw.

“I could never–”

Her scoff sounds suspiciously watery. “It’s natural, Cullen. Just don’t let it linger.”

“I’d be afraid of a sudden knife to my thigh if I did.”

She laughs. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard in far too long. Warm, deep in her chest like shifting stone, a glimpse of light in a cave.

They lapse into comfortable silence, listening to the fire crackle. It’s long past a respectable hour when Sidni finally falls asleep, weeks on the road taking their toll. She moves onto her right side, curling into a ball, her favorite position to sleep in when she occupies a bedroll by herself. Cullen smiles and guides her loose hair behind her ear, pulling her into the curve of his body. Her eyes open in slits, her lips twisting upward. She takes his hand and tucks their arms against her chest before drifting off again. He lets his eyes close, breathing in her familiar scent.

He won’t sleep tonight. Not with this revelation crowding out any other thought in his head. His Cadash, the woman who inexplicably wants him after everything she’s seen and experienced, has already suffered enough. He vows to her sleeping form that she will never know such disguised slavery nor pain from a loved one’s hand ever again.


	2. The Shape of You - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: smut ahead!

There was something about the new leather thing Sidni had gotten from Madame de Fer. She called it a bodice. He didn’t much care what it was called. He just knew it enhanced her figure. The way the leather pushed her breasts up, straightened her spine, and even some new leather trousers that hugged her bottom …

 _Maker’s breath_ , what was he doing, thinking of her that way?

He pulled himself forcibly to the present, finding his chin in his hand as he leaned on his desk, eyes staring into the distance. If this was where his mind was wandering, perhaps it was time for a break.

Therein lay the problem. In trying to rise from his desk, he found he was hard. He couldn’t very well wander the battlements much less go anywhere else in such a state. His hand found the back of his neck, digging in and trying to direct his thoughts elsewhere. The missives in front of him couldn’t hold his attention. They cluttered his desk and covered the surface every way he looked. He fought the childish urge to sweep them all to the floor, like the first time he had taken her, right here.

 _Glass shattering, her quiet gasp, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Everything in him screamed to make that last move, to finally claim her as his. The way she had looked up at him, eyes wide and dark with want. Her fingers firmly curled into the folds of his surcoat. The sound of her breath had been slightly too fast. And then her eyes had flicked to his lips, her own parting just enough to see a flash of her teeth before bringing her gaze back to his, shifting against the edge of his desk. His control had snapped as he swept the paperwork to the floor with his arm and he surged forward to kiss her, his hands finding her hips and lifting her to sit on the now bare surface. She had gone easily, fingers tangled in his hair as he climbed atop her and forced her onto her back._ Maker _, the sounds she made as he cupped her breast through her tunic, his hips pressing hers down into the wood. She had writhed beautifully beneath him, legs hooked about his waist._

Cullen groaned, his face falling forward into his hands. That was not helping. His situation was now almost painful as he repositioned himself in his chair.

The bells tolled outside. It was time for the evening meal and everyone would be seeking food. If he was quick …

Laces undone and scooting to the edge of his chair to give himself room, he took himself in hand, stroking slowly as his thoughts got away from him again. He found himself thinking of the time he’d found her smallclothes amongst his piles of work, his shock fanned into need as he’d seen her smirking across the room.  He hissed as his hand tightened around his cock, his strokes faster as he remembered what followed.

_The flush had spread down her neck as her movements suggested a rougher need. He had pressed forward, losing himself in her tactile encouragement. She bent to his will and obeyed his demands with just enough resistance to make his blood burn in his veins. He had thought she could burn the lyrium from him, become his new addiction. He’d never heard the mewls she’d made before, but he wanted to hear them again and again. And when he’d finally thrust into her, he’d nearly lost control, even as the loose ties around her wrists prevented her from touching him._

His teeth bit into his hand to stifle his moan when he came over his hand. The movements of his hips and his hand slowed as pleasure hummed through his body. His breathing echoed in his office. He slumped back in his chair, sweat cooling on his forehead, his heart pounding.

“Cullen?”

His knees banged into the underside of his desk as he jumped, spine snapping straight to look like … well, like he hadn’t been doing what he’d been doing. Forcing his messy hand under the surface and fumbling for a quill with the other, he looked to his intruder.

Sidni was leaning against the doorway, arms folded across her chest. A smile pulled at her lips and, Andraste preserve him, she was wearing the bodice he’d just been fantasizing about.

“Ah, yes, Inquisitor, what can I do for you?”

She was barely holding back laughter. He deserved it. He was doing a poor job at acting normal.

“I was coming to see if you wanted to get dinner, but I see you were in the mood for something else.”

His facade collapsed with a weak curse as he slumped forward onto the desk. Humiliation overwhelmed him. She knew. She knew what he’d been in here doing.

The sound of a lock clicking into place pulled his attention to her. She secured each door before rounding his desk, her gaze darting to his lap. A wicked glint lit up her eyes as she swung a leg over his knees, her hands reaching for him. The position gave him a perfect view of the way the leather pushed up her breasts.

“Perhaps you can show me,” she murmured, fingers brushing teasingly along his length.

With a growl, he crushed her against him, claiming her lips.


	3. The Winter Palace - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Smutty smut!

“Poor Curly can’t escape his admirers.”

“Don’t remind me,” she seethes, keeping her back to the crowd around her commander. She’s already been reprimanded by Josephine for looking like she longs to murder each and every one of them. It’s proving to be more difficult to keep a neutral face than to find the clues leading toward the empress’s assassination.

Varric has planted himself near the spot where Cullen has backed himself against the wall. She suspects it’s to allow her to stop and talk to him while still keeping an eye on the vultures without looking overbearing. She owes him something expensive when they make it out of here.

“Andraste’s ass, can’t they think of something creative?”

They both wince as they listen to the various comments being made. Several simpering nobles inquire as to his current status, ignoring each declaration that he’s already taken. Every compliment, every flirtatious overture, every blatant invitation is flowery, predictable, and entirely unoriginal. And they are all laced with the invasive inappropriateness that is exclusively Orlesian. Not to mention they’re  _laying their hands on him._

“Easy, Prickly,” Varric murmurs as she tenses while hearing the telltale exasperation of Cullen attempting to be polite while removing an unwanted touch from himself.

The other dwarf snatches two wine glasses from a passing elf, handing one to her. She keeps part of her attention on the guests and the other part on the utter ridiculousness behind her. Varric tries to make small talk, keep up appearances. Her answers are short, mostly consisting of one word only.

“Madam, please,” comes Cullen’s distressed voice, followed by the rustling of fabric. Green eyes narrow, unseeing, her ears now entirely focused on the fiasco out of her line of sight. Varric’s voice cuts off as he glances behind her, his face transforming from pity to alarm.

“Did you just …  _grab my bottom_?”

“I am a weak man.”

“Ser, I don’t think–”

Whatever else was said is lost on her. Varric narrowly misses grabbing her arm as she spins on her heel, spine straight, chin high. Pushing past voluminous skirts and silky trousers into the half ring formed around Cullen, her eyes narrow at the man touching her lover.

The look on his face as he quickly retracts his hand is absurdly satisfying.

“Forgive me, I need a moment of the dear commander’s time. I’ll return him to you shortly,” she smiles.

They twitter various versions of affirmatives, some sending her venomous looks from behind their masks, others nodding and demanding she bring him back. Her hand locks on the blue sash across Cullen’s chest, dragging him forward as he excuses himself politely. She can feel the tension leave him as they clear the crowd.

“Thank the Maker, I was beginning to– Inquisitor, where are we going?”

The silk crumples in her grasp as she pulls him through the ballroom, past the banquet table, and into the garden. Her appearance draws curious gazes and whispered rumors behind fans as she glances around. Dorian catches her eye and smirks, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. He relieves her of her forgotten wine glass as they pass.

“Try to be quiet,” he says.

Cullen stammers protests, but he doesn’t resist as she drags him into the storage room Dorian indicated. Swinging the rickety - by Orlesian standards - door shut, she pushes him back against it, stretching onto her toes and tugging him down. Her kiss is too hard, too much, and yet not enough.

“Sidni–”

“They think they can touch you? Claim you for their own?”

She fumbles at the laces on his trousers, pushing them down with his smalls. His hands cup her head, pulling her in for a gentler kiss, recognizing her reaction for the fear it is.

“I’m yours,” he promises, his voice breaking off into a quiet groan as her fingers close around his length. “Maker’s breath,” he hisses.

She wastes no time, breathing in his noises as she strokes teasingly until he’s fully hard. Her thumb catches the bead of pre-come at his tip, her grip firming as her teeth dig into his bottom lip. Her body lights up at the soft noises he makes, the way his mouth chases hers, cock twitching in her hand as she twists her grip.

With a sound more snarl than anything human, his hands grasp her thighs. The world tilts as she finds herself lifted and pressed back against the door, her legs around his hips. He pushes the fabric of her dress up to her waist, trapping her easily with his weight. They pause, his gaze branding her with the depth of his emotions. By the Stone, he’s hers. Whatever she’s done to earn his love, she will not let any power-seeking, pretentious Orlesian have him.

He finds the dagger strapped to her thigh and slides it free. She stills, clinging to his shoulders. The blade cuts through the fabric of her smalls at each hip easily. He rips the remains away, the knife clattering on the ground and skidding as he kicks it away. She growls as he strokes a finger through her folds, too light to do anything but drive her mad. The corner of his mouth twitches, the smirk stretching his scar in the way she loves so much.

Her fingers card through his hair, wrenching just enough to bare his throat to her. Skimming her teeth against his skin causes a fine tremor throughout his body and his touch to become insistent. She bites down when he presses against her clit, circling it and chuckling. Her whine goes unanswered, a second finger joining in the torment.

“Cullen,” she breathes, lips running along his jaw.

A cry escapes before she can stop it as he pushes his fingers into her, curling them as he thrusts. She writhes against his hand, heels digging into his backside. His head falls forward, face buried in her neck as he mouths filthy words and scratches his stubble across her exposed skin.

A bell tolls from the palace.

_Shit._

He pulls away. Before the thought of screaming in frustration even crosses her mind, he guides himself into her in one swift motion. She gasps as his entire body presses against the length of hers, hands finding her ass, holding her steady as he rolls his hips. Her head hits the door with a dull thud. He groans low in the back of his throat as she clenches around him.

His movements are anything but gentle. Each thrust winds her higher and higher. She doesn’t give a  _damn_  who hears what’s going on. Let them. Let them all know the Commander of the Inquisition is taken. Her hands tangle in his hair, mussing it just enough that he won’t be able to put it completely to rights.

His growl rumbles against her chest as he asks, “You think it’s only me they’re watching? They’re just not brave enough to  _touch_  you.”

He palms at her breast, thumb teasing the nipple to a peak under the expensive fabric. The way her back arches away from the door forces him to hold her close, his hand trailing down her stomach to find the bundle of nerves between her legs. He worries at it as he drives his hips against her, over and over, his breaths harsh against her hair. She sucks a bruise into the underside of his jaw and another just above the collar of his coat.

He moans and shifts his stance, the angle of his thrusts changing. She gasps as he hits that spot, once, twice, three times. Her nails dig into his scalp and then she’s coming, the tail end of her shout swallowed by his kiss. A groan escapes his throat as he follows her moments later, his muscles tensing before he slumps forward, pinning her between him and the door.

Their breaths echo in the small room. She runs her hands across his shoulders and down his back, feeling his heart slowly fade to a normal pace.

“Sweet Maker, you will be the death of me.”

She laughs, prompting a huff from him as it jostles their still joined bodies. He steps back, his own hands cradling her tenderly and setting her back on the ground. It’s obvious she’s unsuccessful at concealing her pout as he does so. His own chuckle brightens his face as he tries to smooth her dress into something approaching acceptable before pulling his breeches back around his hips. With that done, he gathers her torn smalls and tucks them under the waistband. Her eyes narrow at him as she collects her dagger and puts it in its scabbard.

They stroll back through the garden, ignoring Dorian’s toast and knowing smirk. Cullen pulls ahead of her, making his way back to the admirers awaiting his return. She steps up to Varric’s side, her Inquisitor mask firmly in place.

“Andraste’s tits, what did you do?”

She glances over. Cullen is debauched. A hint of curls breaks up his careful style, the sash across his chest hopelessly wrinkled. And two small, but stark, love bites marr his neck. His smile is almost proud.

“Just showing them what they can’t have.”


	4. Wonder - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none, but this is pre-relationship

Sometimes Sidni looks at Cullen and wonders what her life would have needed to be like for her to be someone who deserves Cullen. So that he would look at her and see someone of worth beyond what she can do for this Inquisition.

She wonders, if she had known he was going to cross her path, what she would have endured to escape her father’s hold as someone good. How many beatings would she have taken gladly, the image of his kind smile and gentle manner held in her mind’s eye.

And in her darker moments, she wonders if he looks at her and sees her. Beyond the Herald. Beyond the Carta’s Parsha. She wonders if he can see  _her_. The child who clung to her mother and stared at trees in wonder. The girl who touched the stone in Orzammar and felt something whisper to her soul, nourishing her wonder and joy, promising something better than the pain her father’s hand constantly bestowed.

But even she cannot see that girl anymore. After being buried and pushed away for so long, Sidni is sure she no longer exists. So she smiles at her commander, keeps a polite distance, and yearns for something she can’t have. Because if there’s one thing she does know, it’s that creatures like her don’t deserve beautiful things. And Cullen, she has discovered, is one of the most beautiful things she’s ever encountered.


	5. Kiss Prompt: Being Unable to Open Their Eyes For a Few Moments Afterward - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

The sounds of a commotion in the courtyard are loud enough that she can hear them through her open balcony doors. She hobbles to her feet, cursing the Templar who got through her defenses for the thousandth time. Her thigh burns, but until the healers are back from the Arbor Wilds, she has to make do with the surgeon and Dorian’s attempts to speed things along. The insistence that she sit and wait chafes at her.

Still, she’s slow as she makes for the door, hoping the disturbance is what she thinks it is.

She doesn’t have to go far. Her door flies open with a crash

She’s still not used to it. She wonders if she ever will be. Part of her wants to be able to anticipate it, but another part hopes she never will.

Cullen barrels up the stairs. They share a brief glance before he crosses the short distance, seizing and lifting her against his body. His kiss steals everything from her, replacing it with his own desperation, his relief, his worry. His love.

She presses back, breathing him in until she has no room for her own breath. Here. Alive. Together. She’d gladly sink into him and never leave. She’s needed his quiet presence, his words of assurance when the failure of the most recent events has overwhelmed her. His hand in hers. But he’s here now.

When he sets her back on her feet, her leg nearly gives out, but she barely registers it. She’s still lost in the kiss, her hands clinging to his surcoat in lieu of her sight. He’s here. His scent, his heat, his breathing … it all reassures her as she drinks it in.

Her eyes open to a bashful smile. She blinks several times, bringing herself back. A smile lights up her face in return.

He’s home.


	6. Kiss Prompt: In Secret Kiss - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Her shoulders sag as Josephine officially calls an end to the council. She listens to her ambassador and spymaster begin to talk quietly as she leans her hands on the table, steadying herself. A glance to the side shows her advisors departing, leaving her to her own devices.

“Commander?”

They all stop, turning back to her. She casts her gaze to the map, straightening her spine and summoning silverite into her voice instead of that damn softness that’s going to give her away.

“Do you have a moment to go over the fortress plans with me?”

She succeeds a little too well at sounding distant. Cullen’s face flickers briefly before he nods and moves toward her.

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

Leliana and Josephine continue on their way. Sidni watches them for any signs of suspicion, but it seems she’s successfully diverted their curiosity. As soon as the door shuts, she rounds the table and pulls Cullen to her. He stumbles slightly in surprise before lifting her to sit on the map, cradling her face as they kiss.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes as they break apart.

He presses his forehead to hers, tucking a curl behind her ear. She trembles at the gentleness, clinging to his arms.

“They wouldn’t–”

“I know.”

But she doesn’t. Dorian and Varric knowing is already too much. To openly flaunt her relationship with Cullen makes him vulnerable. Who would see him as a weakness and aim straight for him? Too many.

He senses her fear, pressing a kiss to her nose and then to her forehead before holding her against his chest. The pounding of her heart threatens to choke her.

“For now, let it be ours,” he murmurs.


	7. Hurt Prompt: You Need Stitches - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, abuse mention, and stitches (obviously)

“Dorian–” **  
**

“No.”

She sighs, sitting back on her heels. He glares at her. Were she anyone else, she might have quailed under it. Instead, she just stares back at him, expressionless. He tries to hold his anger, but it falters under her impassive gaze.

“Do you have elfroot potions left?”

“No.”

“Lyrium?”

“No.”

“So there will be no magical healing. I can’t carry you back, not in either of our states. And you’re still bleeding.  _You need stitches_.”

Her fingers are stained with his blood and growing more slippery by the minute. He wilts and nods. Sidni breathes a sigh of relief and sends out a quick prayer of thanks before she can stop herself.

Cullen’s habits are rubbing off on her.

She finds the last clean bit of her tunic, ripping it free and dabbing at the gash on his calf as best she can. Wiping her fingers on her own trousers, she frees the little emergency kit she keeps hidden against her ribs and sets to work. He winces the first few stitches, but eventually settles into sharp breaths.

After several moments of watching her, he asks in a strained voice, “Where did you learn such frighteningly perfect stitching?”

She falters before shaking it off and continuing to close up his wound. It will be enough to tide him over if they can get back to the camp by tomorrow.

“I had to get creative back when. Apparently my own attempts were appalling and a healer from a caravan I was helping guard taught me. I had a lot of practice.”

He holds his breath. She braces, knowing the question will be personal. Invasive. But it’s Dorian. He asks because he cares.

“You weren’t healed when you were … hurt?”

The scoff that escapes is probably too loud and too forced. “No. Healing didn’t let it set in. Wouldn’t’ve reminded me of my failure. But when you’re trying to survive …”

She ties off the last stitch, feeling his eyes on her. The last bit of bandage from her kit just barely reaches around his leg, but she stitches it closed to make it hold. Tucking everything away, she settles next to him, ignoring her own hurts. He leans against her, reaching for her hand. She lets her head drop against his shoulder, taking the offer of comfort and squeezing his fingers between her own.

“Tell me, do we get to go father hunting when all of this is over?”

Her laugh echoes in the cave as the night closes in.


	8. Hurt Prompt: I'm Sorry. I Know It Hurts. Here, Hold My Hand. - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Cullen takes a deep breath and sets his tankard down. He hadn’t even noticed her slip away. Again.

Bull claps him on the shoulder and says, “You married the former thug. You should be used to it.”

“Yes, but in these circumstances, it worries me,” he grimaces, rolling the suddenly stinging joint.

“For good reason. Go find her. We’ll all hold the fort down here.”

He leaves the fancy little tavern where the Inner Circle gathered after the last council meeting and makes his way to their rooms. With tensions high and the Qunari threat looming, but stalled, they’d taken the moment to relax. Sidni had insisted on everyone being there.

_Like she wanted to say …_

He rubs the back of his neck, hoping it will ease the knot of doom in his gut. They knew this Exalted Council would be a nightmare. But with everything else going wrong, he supposes it was too much to hope for their peace and joy to last.

_We will endure. As we have done._

With Sidni guiding them, with everyone back together, they will make it to the other side. Perhaps battered and bruised, but they will stand tall. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that his wife has no tolerance for puffed up politicians. She will never bow to them.

He freezes when he enters their drawing room. It’s dim, only the fireplace having been tended to. His Mabari - he really must think of a name soon - paws at the closed bedroom door. As soon as the hound is aware, he turns to Cullen, a plaintive whine in his throat.

He barrels across the room, hand on his sword. He calls her name, listening. There’s no answer, not even as he yanks the door open.

The darkness gives him yet another pause. Stillness and silence greet him, no signs of a threat leaping toward him. He blinks, realizing it’s not quite pitch black. There’s an eerie glow.

His heart sinks.

“Sidni.”

He finds her sitting on the other side of the bed, back pressed to it, legs drawn into her chest. Her left arm rests across her knees, her right hand locked around the wrist. Green light illuminates her clenched eyes, the tightness of her mouth. He sits in front of her, fear stealing his breath.

With her gloves finally discarded, he can see the poisonous vines crawling up her arm. It cracks and spits hostile energy, each new wave causing her to tense, her jaw locking against it. His hands hover uselessly, afraid to add to it.

“Sidni.”

When her eyes meet his, he just barely resists scrambling backward. They  _glow_  just for a moment, but it’s enough to show him the tears in her eyes. Never has he seen her cry for her own pain until now. And the fear that flashes in her gaze.

She pulls her hand into her stomach, hiding it behind her legs. It doesn’t muffle the way it sparks, worse than the few he’s witnessed. She gasps, heels scraping against the floor, her unmarked hand covering her mouth as the gasp turns into a cry. Her body hunches over her arm, ragged sobs causing the Mabari to lay on his belly and whimper. Cullen fights his own tears, swallowing past the choking terror and dragging her to him.

He cages her legs with his, settling his arm around her stomach to keep her close. Her head falls back against his shoulder, her breath heavy as she’s given a sudden reprieve before the next wave. He brushes her hair away from her face, kissing her temple. His eyes are drawn to her left hand where it lies limp on his thigh.

It’s killing her. The Council, the Qunari … it doesn’t matter. The magic she used to save them is slowly tearing her apart. His conversation with Dorian echoes back at him. They’d underestimated it. They believed the front she’s put up.

“Cullen–”

“No.”

“But if it–”

She chokes off a scream, pushing back into him. He squeezes her, setting his cheek against hers. He can’t lose her. He won’t. Not now.

He locks his fingers with her right hand, holding tight. Her response is a death grip, nails dug into his skin. As the Mark hisses and lights the room around them, he tries to give her something steady amidst the chaos.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, vowing to find a way out of this, no matter what it takes. “I know it hurts. Hold my hand. Don’t let go.”


	9. One Word Meme: Red - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood

Sidni stares at the blood on her hands. She can’t believe what she’s done, and yet … she would do it again. The choice to save Cullen’s life in exchange is one she’d make over and over. Without hesitation.

But the blood is still making her hands slippery and is splattered across her front. She spilled it. She stabbed and sliced and watched life fade.

She collapses to the floor and screams. Red stains her knees even as her heart shatters. How many more deaths must she hold on her shoulders? Even if they’re possibly deserving of it? Sobs wrack her body and Cullen’s arms come around her.

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s going to be alright.”


	10. One Word Meme: Love - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Cullen slowly wakes to frigid air sneaking through the roof and an unfamiliar weight across his torso. He tries not to panic, letting the fact that his sleep was relatively uneventful linger pleasantly and telling himself there is no danger.

A quiet snuffle brings a smile to his lips.  _She stayed._ With the slightest movement possible, he tilts his head to find his dwarf curled on his chest. She’s free of armor - though he wouldn’t doubt there’s a blade stashed on her person somewhere - and sleeping. He takes the opportunity to study the softness of her relaxed features. She’s almost childlike, even with the scars. Here, unguarded and at peace, her mien reflects the very soul of her that is struggling to break through her hardened facade.

He knows if he moves, he’ll wake her. He wants her to have this, just a while longer. All too soon, those green eyes will open and fix him with that new look of wonder and adoration. Though it’s less now than it was before, it will still be tinged with fear. Of what, he’s not sure yet. But then duty will call and she’ll disappear completely behind the mantle of Inquisitor. 

Until he can coax her out again. And show her that yes, he does love her, even if she’s not ready to hear the words yet.


	11. One Word Prompt: Clean - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

She pauses as she sheds the last of her clothes. Even just weeks ago, she would have never believed she’d be doing this.

But here she is, climbing into the beautiful tub. With Cullen sitting behind her. His arms gathering her close, fingers tracing her scars. And she’s mostly content to let him do so. There’s no lingering need to run, only a vague wonder if he truly does find them beautiful at the back of her head.

They revel in the silence as they soak. He drags the soapy cloth across her skin, no amorous intention behind his movements. Even that is something new for her, but she finds there is a different intimacy in this. One she wants more of as she shifts to return the favor.


	12. In Her Words: Favorite Things About Companions/Friends - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Dorian is everything I wish I could be. He’s brave and wonderful and I sometimes think he’s who I could have been.

Varric is annoying and funny and an unbelievably good friend. I love how he can always be positive. I think sometimes he’s the only thing between myself and insanity.

I love that Cassandra has shown me that being strong and romantic can go hand in hand. She is an amazing woman with a heart of gold that I am lucky to have at my side.

Leliana and Josephine are wonderfully supportive and loyal. Their friendship has taught me a lot about forming my own.

The Iron Bull doesn’t judge. We’ve both got shady pasts, but he has shown me how to laugh and enjoy things. And he looks out for all of us.

There is something pure about Cole’s wanting to help. It comes simply from a desire to see everyone happy. Not enough people think of that.

Blackwall is steadfast. He’s never wavered, even when he disagrees. I can trust him at my back.

Vivienne is no nonsense. You always know where you stand with her and don’t have to guess.

Sera always keeps me on my toes. Always.

Solas is wise and treats me as an equal. Even though my knowledge on certain subjects is lacking.

Cullen … Cullen is wonderful. I don’t deserve him.


	13. A Letter from Your OC to Their Love Interest - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Commander,

I’m returning to Skyhold with proof of Samson’s involvement in the Red Lyrium smuggling. I believe these will be beneficial to your investigation. Perhaps they will finally lead us to the source.

Inquisitor Cadash

_A separate sheet of parchment, creased and slightly crumpled, is tucked inside and addressed as private for Commander Cullen. Some words are splotched, like the writer hesitated over them._

Cullen,

Yes, I am alive. The Graves are a bit of a mess. We’re doing what we can to help clean out the templars and these ridiculous Freemen of the Dales, but it’s slow progress. We haven’t made it back to camp for a while since we’ve been tracking them. They had all five of your letters waiting for me when I returned. And one from Bull telling me you haven’t been leaving your office.

Please, Cullen, put the work down and go outside. I will return to you. I’ve survived worse and no crazed templar is going to be my end. I know how much you hate Egon roosting in your quarters, but I will leave him to watch over you again if you won’t take care of yourself.

I love you. Trust that it is driving my every move to come back to you. I’ve never had something so precious in my life and I won’t lose it now.

Sidni

P.S. Now put the letter down. There’s a box of hot cocoa in my desk that was supposed to be a surprise for you. Share some with Bull. And don’t go back to your office until you’ve eaten.


	14. A Letter to Your OC From a Companion They Haven’t Seen In a While - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Cadash,

There’s no need to sneak into Tevinter. I believe you would send Cullen into a fit if you did. I can handle a few blood bloated Magisters. Without stabbing them, as I know you would no doubt suggest. Rest assured, I am in no danger. No more than usual, at least.

But what’s this Varric has written about little Rutherfords about to be running around? I can never believe a word that dwarf writes, but am I about to be an uncle? That is news I would hope to hear from you or Cullen first. Perhaps I ought to find my way back to Skyhold. Just to be sure of course.

Your last letter mentioned spending time with the Avvar we met. Was that voluntary? I know you spoke of living through a winter storm with another tribe once upon a time, but I didn’t know you enjoyed it so much. I’m beginning to wonder if that mark has finally addled your brain. Is it still paining you?

And yes, I do miss you, my friend. LIfe is quite dull without you around. Certainly less killing. Or outright killing. Assassination attempts are so random and poorly done, you would consider them boring. There is no one who will sit with me and read either. I find myself missing the overgrown dwarven cat I had at Skyhold. Even if she was sometimes infuriating.

I’ve just remembered Maevaris wishes for me to convey her thanks for the candied chocolates you sent her. My supply has run out and you did not send me any so I suppose I must think about taking the perilous trek through the wilderness if I want more. Which would demand a visit. And a game of chess with Cullen so I can finally wipe that smug smile off his face. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? I know it was.

I suspect I won’t be very far behind this letter.

Dorian


	15. Your OC’s Description of Their Game’s Events - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none
> 
> I picked one event because if I did all of them, we’d be here forever.

Duchess is dead. Good thing because she was crazy. And working for Corypheus. And she was the mystery assassin.

Celene still rules. I guess that’s good too. Gaspard is exiled, but he’ll be back some day. Once he’s done licking his wounds.

(I don’t trust that Briala. I doubt we’ve seen the last of her though.)

Orlais is still ridiculous and its people even more so. I didn’t think anything could top their awful and unnecessary everyday lifestyle, but the ball proved me wrong. Not to mention they touched the Commander without his permission. If I don’t have to interact with an Orlesian for the next ten years, it will still be too soon.

Avoid Orlais at all costs. Job well done.

_In the corner of the Inquisitor’s report is a note from Ambassador Montilyet._

Inquisitor,

Though your distaste for the Orlesian Empire is clear, this is not a sufficient report of the event. I would be happy to help, should you wish it.

Ambassador Montilyet


	16. Drabble Prompts: Things You Said Under the Stars and In the Grass - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

His armor clanks as he settles next to her. She hasn’t so much as flinched, her knives left hidden in her plainclothes. The murmurs of their traveling party fade with the firelight several paces behind him.

_You sound like a herd of brontos when you’re in your armor, Cullen._

Starlight illuminates hints of her face; the bottom line of her tattoo, a corner of her lips, the arch of a brow over dark eyes. Her eyes turn to her oldest friends when she’s troubled.

It takes effort, but he manages to carefully pry her fingers from where they’re woven in the blades of grass and hold them between his own.

“But why can’t we let Corypheus have Orlais?”

He huffs the laugh he’s been holding back all night.

“If I had an answer, we’d be on our way back to Skyhold this instant.”

She squeezes his hand.. “Is my commander advising against my plan?”

“You commander sees the value of your plan,” he smiles. “However, we both know–”

“I know,” she sighs. “I know.”


	17. Drabble Prompts: Things You Said That I Wasn’t Meant to Hear - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

“So, the boss, huh?”

She freezes when she hears Bull’s voice over the early evening din.

“No! N-no. I mean, what about her?”

Her eyes flick to Varric sitting on the second floor. He winks, turning back to watching the commander reluctantly sharing a drink with the Qunari. Grip tightening on the one mug in her grasp, she suddenly understands.

"I don’t need that second drink, Cabot.”

"Nah, it’s almost full, Inquisitor. Just a moment.”

Stone’s sake, these fools and their insistence on humiliating her!

She taps her coin impatiently against the bar top. Bull is chuckling, but she can’t hear his words over a sudden bout of laughter.

"Am I that obvious?” comes Cullen’s voice, rather forlorn. “Nothing will come of it.”

Air catches in her throat, her heart gasping to a stop.

When Varric looks back at the bar, he finds an empty spot, an abandoned drink, and a confused Cabot.

On the other side of Skyhold, Sidni curses each of her supposed friends for trying to make her believe in the impossible.


	18. For Kagetsukai - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

There are nights she wakes and her current life is lost to her. Sometimes it’s a strange flash of shadows and light. Other times it’s the way the sheet has tangled around a limb. It disturbs the dormant paranoia, the need to be over aware, brings them roaring back to life.

And it’s always when she’s shifted away from Cullen in her sleep.

Before … before, it took hours to remind herself. Especially when she didn’t trust these people. Now, she has something to ground her.

The softness of actual bedding begins to calm her heart. Leftover heat from a nearby body soothes her breathing. Callused, slightly cool fingers under her own brings her back to reality.

They’ve never spoken of it, but Cullen just knows. There must be something different in her touch after these episodes. The sleepy slits of his eyes glitter in the light of the moons as he stirs, feeling her hand on his. His movements are slow, drawn out so she can see where he’s going before he makes the actual motion.

The weight of his head in her lap is enough. She tangles her fingers in his hair, teasing the curls free of the concoction he uses. He wraps his arms around her leg, kissing her bare thigh. There is no heat behind it, just reassurance. Blonde strands slipping through her grasp, breaths slowly syncing in the cool air let in from his nonexistent roof … they chase her metaphorical demons away.

Here, she is safe and protected. In the darkness of the night, Cullen gives her a life free of danger, at least for a few moments. She wonders if he knows how much she loves him for it. She curls over him, kisses his cheek and nose and jaw.

They settle next to each other, laying on their stomachs. Their hands are linked in the gap between them. He holds her gaze as if to reassure her that this is real, that she’s maybe - just maybe - escaped that old life.


	19. Scenario Prompts: Sidni Catching Cullen Singing - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

The bitter breeze ruffles her hair and stings her cheeks, but she doesn’t care. Face turned toward the winter sun, she’s found a moment of peace. Here she is neither Inquisitor, nor Parsha, just Sidni. **  
**

Whoever that is.

The sound of carefree movement and the murmur of a voice reaches her, faint at first then growing in volume as the intruder comes up her staircase. Fingers tighten around the cold dragon bone blade at her hip, muscles tensed as she creeps toward the edge of the roof.

She pauses, catching a familiar timbre.

Shifting so she can dangle from the edge - just in case - she’s greeted with an upside down view of her quarters. And the man currently shedding his snow dusted coat as he sings quietly. It’s a Satinalia song, one she’s heard countless versions of, but it sounds  _different_  coming from his throat. The angles of his face are relaxed, skin pinked from the wind, and a small smile plays on his lips.

Her heart twists painfully as she’s reminded how beautiful he is when he’s let his guard down. The addition of his singing only adds to the image in front of her. The fact that she’s allowed to see it …

Her feet land silently as she swings down to the balcony. He continues setting his armor on the stand in the corner, unaware that she stands in the doorway and watches, smiling at the melody he weaves in the otherwise quiet room.

It takes time for him to notice her. As he crosses to her desk, seeking out the fresh batch of cocoa she’s hidden there, she starts forming a plan to work on his awareness. He has the bottle in his hand, visibly starting and raising it as a weapon when he sees her. His voice dies away, eyes wide and body stanced for a fight.

“You should sing more often,” she grins.

“Maker’s breath, Sidni! Were you on the roof again?”

Her laugh echoes across Skyhold through the open doors. He refuses her requests to continue his song until hours later, when she’s plied him with hot cocoa and kisses in front of the fireplace.


	20. Scenario Prompts: Awake Without Them - Flynn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

It’s far too early for anyone to be awake, especially Dorian. But, finding his quarters still and mage-less, he pulls on trousers and sets off for the library. Halfway there, he realizes he’s struggling with his tunic because it’s not his at all.

Which is how he ends up in Dorian’s nook, shirtless and barefoot, in the middle of the night.

Soft caws accompany the occasional page turn as he approaches the table. Dorian’s hair flops across his forehead, its mussed state a testament to their shared pleasure from hours earlier. The lone candle worries Flynn. If he hasn’t lit more, something is consuming his thoughts.

“Dorian?”

He receives a slight head tilt in his direction, though those grey eyes remain fixed on the open tome.

“I woke up and you weren’t there. Isn’t it a little early for research?”

“We’re missing something,” Dorian mutters. “Some … key or … weakness. I’ll not send you off to him unprepared.”

The way his chest squeezes is how Flynn imagines getting crushed under a boulder would feel. He steps behind the chair, leaning forward and nuzzling against Dorian’s neck. It’s a successful gamble. Dorian’s hands fall away, allowing him to close the book and push it away. There’s a sigh and a hissed Tevene curse before he relaxes into the touch.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow. For now, come back to bed,” Flynn whispers, kissing the skin that always smells - even if faintly - of exotic spices.

“Amatus,” Dorian sighs.

“Tomorrow.”

Dorian clasps his hand and raises its marked surface to his own lips.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees.


	21. Three Sentence Fic: Butterfly Kisses - Sidni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Breath hitched, heart frozen, her scars are laid bare to the man her love has endangered both as a gruesome reminder and warning all in one. He ignores the barrier she’s attempting to put between them, bends close and brushes tenderness across the ruined skin as if he can soothe the fear and anger thrumming underneath.

The kisses are fleeting, soft, nothing against the atrocities carved there, but their gentleness still sinks beneath, flooding her veins with him and his promises to keep their love strong in the face of whatever may come.


	22. Three Sentence Fic: Scratchy Face - Flynn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

It’s not as though their lives are devoid of laughter, but this … this unbridled, ridiculous, carefree laughter is rarer than Flynn likes and witnessed only in private moments. He takes full advantage of the ticklish skin on Dorian’s body, his kisses followed by nuzzling his face against the spots he loves. Dorian’s protests and claims of hatred for his scruffy, unkempt jaw are lost amidst the joy that fills the room in the notes of their discordant voices. 


	23. A Single Loving Kiss Left On the Other’s Forehead When They Fall Asleep Snuggled Close Together - Flynn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

There’s no sound as he climbs the steps. Scorn and chastisement chase each other in circles round his chest. Muffling his movements with magic. Considering accepting this ridiculous offer. He should just turn around and go back to his own room.

A flash of a smile appears in his mind’s eye.

That smile. It never fails to bring him to a pause. For some unfathomable reason, he seems to be the cause of it. And not only when they engage in the more scandalous moments. It seems all Dorian has to do is exist.

One deep breath. Another. And then he continues up the stairs until he’s passed silently through the door and into Flynn’s quarters.

Said man is hunched over his desk, hair standing on end like he’s come in contact with one of Dorian’s storm spells, the fingers tangled in it stained with smudges of ink. A frown tugs at his lips, bright eyes dull and heavy lidded. Dorian imagines him with less worries, dressed in Ostwick finery - no, that would be horribly unfashionable and Tevinter finery would suit him better anyway - and attending to the mundane matters of his house. Of course, that was never in Flynn’s future.

This is preferable to the possibility of never finding his brilliance under the glow of red lyrium.

His head jerks up, hand grasping at the abandoned quill blindly. The way his tense and slightly guilty expression softens brings a smile to Dorian’s mouth. He pushes away from the desk and crosses the room. Dorian meets him halfway, letting the quieting spell dissipate. Flynn wraps him in an embrace, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“You came,” he breathes.

In short order, they’re curled beneath the decadent covers on Flynn’s bed. And Dorian wonders why he’s been so resistant to this idea. Why the few offers of spending the night, even without more amorous activities afoot, sends him running for the tavern and the cheap wine. Why, when Flynn looks at him like … like he might actually feel something for Dorian.

The night closes in around them, the fire dimming. For once, his mind is blessedly silent. All he does is enjoy Flynn’s fingers tracing patterns across his skin. He thinks he might be dreaming, feeling the echoes of young and foolish fancies of being loved in a way Tevinter would never accept.

But then Flynn’s lips brush across his temple. Soft. Reverent. The kiss he lays on Dorian’s forehead is full of promise. And maybe, Dorian thinks as he finally succumbs to sleep, maybe he doesn’t have to just dream anymore.


End file.
